


How do we survive?

by Quecksilver_Eyes



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, all of them - Freeform, and jace's falcon deserves a proper funeral, and maia deserves good things, angsty fluff, he's my baby, i love them, jace's falcon is very close to my heart, so's jace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 12:24:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10386612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quecksilver_Eyes/pseuds/Quecksilver_Eyes
Summary: Surviving is an art that’s painted across your body. It’s in Simon’s teeth, in the sun on his skin, in Maia’s throat, in her cracking bones, it’s in Jace’s runes, in his cocky smile as he downs drink after drink.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greywardenblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywardenblue/gifts).



 

> survive  
>  [ser-vahyv]  
>  **verb (used without object), sur** **·** **vived, sur** **·** **viv** **·** **ing.**
> 
> _1._ to remain alive after the death of someone, the cessation of something, or the occurrence of some event; continue to live:  
>  _I don’t have anyone that cares about me._
> 
> 2.        to remain or continue in existence or use:  
>  _I’m not your achievement, I’m your son._
> 
> 3.       to remain alive or in existence; live on:  
>  _Why can’t I say G-._

 

Surviving is an art that’s painted across your body. It’s in Simon’s teeth, in the sun on his skin, in Maia’s throat, in her cracking bones, it’s in Jace’s runes, in his cocky smile as he downs drink after drink.

It’s in Maia’s claws as she scratches the walls of a room that’s much too small, of a room she begged not to be left in _please don’t do this Luke please don’t do this to me_ , as she hears her bones crack and her clothes tear, as she tries to get out, get out, get out of here.

It’s in Simon’s borrowed blood as it drips from his throat, as he sinks his teeth into Jace’s arm, as he drinks and drinks, as Valentine screams and cuts him open, _save your boyfriend Clarissa._

It’s in Jace’s speech, as he flirts with nameless seelies, as he takes them home just to forget about them, as he drinks and drinks, as Valentine cooks fresh spaghetti _to love is to destroy Jonathan_ , as he cannot swear his loyalty to the clave.

Surviving is eating when you don’t want to. It’s getting out of bed and putting on clothes when all you want is shut out the world. It’s adjusting to a life without your mother. It’s tasting dirt and growling and throwing blades. It’s holding your head high and keep walking.

 

It’s being advisor to the interim chapter president of the New York vampire clan, parabatai to the acting head of the New York institute, member of the New York wolf pack.

It’s never seeing the sun again, it’s not counting the faded iratzes, it’s never getting upset again.

It’s nightmares and cold beds and pacing through the room and breathing, breathing despite it all, it’s smiling at parabatai, at best friend, at pack, it’s rambling and smugness and anger.

 

It’s blood.

 

Blood in Simon’s mouth, blood drying on Jace’s knuckles, infected blood coursing through Maia’s veins.

It’s voices and shattered mirrors and a police man who kneels down and says he cares (he doesn’t, he throws everything away for a shadowhunter, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t).

 

It’s also conversations in the middle of the night, and cooking breakfast at 11 am in Magnus’ flat while he takes Alec to a restaurant in Cairo, it’s flour on the ceiling and dough in Jace’s hair, it’s egg yolk on Simon’s glasses and butter on Maia’s shirt. It’s the sun streaming through the windows and Simon staying where he is, it’s Jace kissing Maia’s scars and Maia swirling around with the hot pan in her hand. It’s laughter and a messy kitchen, just them for a little while.

It’s Jace coming home and crawling into his bed and noticing that there are two people waiting for him, half asleep, quietly quarrelling about Star Wars and video games and comic books, it’s burying his head in Maia’s hair and Maia pulling Simon closer to her while she insists that Captain Kirk isn’t a womanizer and Simon wholeheartedly agrees.  
It’s Magnus barging into Jace’s room and demanding they let him make the room larger, it’s Magnus insisting that Simon stays, it’s Alec standing in the doorframe with tousled hair wearing nothing but an old hoodie.

 

It’s making sure to never lock a door, it’s setting up a computer in the largest room Magnus doesn’t need, it’s playing computer games for days, teaching Jace how to use a mouse, it’s Jace watching in awe as Simon and Maia rile each other up, throwing chips and pillows and cursing up a storm.

It’s going to the cinema, hands laced into each other, fitting into a couple’s seat together, Simon curled up on Jace’s lap, his head on Maia’s shoulder, it’s two and a half hours of darkness and plot points and characters, and Jace falling asleep after ten minutes, his chest rising and falling slowly. It’s Simon talking a mile a minute, not caring that Jace doesn’t answer because Maia is invested enough for the two of them, it’s Simon kissing Maia when she’s made a particularly brilliant comment.

It’s holding a funeral for a bird that has long since died, it’s digging out a plain white dress shirt and a white dress with just the tiniest spot, it’s whispering a name Jace hasn’t uttered in years, it’s Simon dragging them to the pet shop and sacrificing the last of his savings so Jace can pick another animal to love, to cherish. It’s Jace kneeling down in front of a tiny one eyed kitten that cowers in the corner and hisses. It’s Maia laughing because of course Jace picks the cat that fits into the palm of his hand and that would bite him while demanding to be held. It’s Maia running her hand over Jace’s back, whispering “It’s so you” with a soft voice, it’s Simon grinning and playfully hissing at the snakes that just blink and flick their tongues.

 

It’s waking up screaming in the middle of the night because somebody left the window open and now the whole room is wet, it’s still flinching when the sun rises and the birds start singing, it’s yelling at Luke to do what he’s supposed to because he is not Nephilim anymore, he’s alpha, he’s alpha and this is his pack.

It’s offering Jace hugs and kisses and arched backs when he dreams of touching the soul sword, when he sees half the downworld die again, when it’s his fault that the second in command to the alpha of the New York wolf pack lies on the cold stone floor, unmoving, caught in between – not wolf and not man, when Valentine crawls back under his skin.

It’s talking to Raphael and listening, for once, for the first time, to bite back excuses and explanations, to say sorry and mean it, to apologize for letting her out, for disobeying, to ask _are you okay?_ It’s looking into the mirror and thinking _I’m repulsive, I’m a monster, why did you bring me back to this nothing where I have to feed and I have to hide from the sun and I can’t bear to be by the people that I love?_

 

Surviving is this, it’s living, despite it all. It’s dark curls and scars and a steady whisper of Jewish prayers and a stele on top of a blood bag and fur on Magnus’ fine silk sheets.

It’s kisses and sleeping in on a Wednesday and picking up a guitar again, it’s apologizing to Maureen, it’s keeping distance to Clary, it’s blood and skin and bones.

 

Because sometimes, even to live is an act of courage and Simon may not be brave, but he can learn, can help Jace and Maia fight their demons as he struggles to fight his, and Maia may not be patient, but she can read book after book of shadowhunter history to find a name for Jace that fits, that doesn’t reek of Valentine and his sickening smiles, and Jace might not be balanced, but he can hug Maia and Simon close to his chest and dry their tears, listen to their worries.

>                love  
>                 [luhv]  
>                  **noun**
> 
> 1.       a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person:  
>  _Well, I’m actually happy that I didn’t maul you to death._
> 
> 2.       a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, friend or partner:  
>  _I would have killed you._
> 
> 3.       sexual passion or desire:  
>  _I would have let you._


End file.
